


23 Seconds

by Greysnyper (Dangersocks)



Category: Batman (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Gen, Missing Persons, Patrol, superman will save us
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:07:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dangersocks/pseuds/Greysnyper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not yet ready to let Gotham RIP.</p>
            </blockquote>





	23 Seconds

Robin likes how he feels the protection, probably grabbing it innately from something he's seen or heard in the spaces between bullet paths. They're just kids shooting at him. He'd normally have to think of contingencies like... _now_  if things were any different. If things were more dangerous...

Rather, he ends his cartwheel gently and doesn't mind facing the punks with his chest out. They're frozen in their tracks, all shock and awe.

It's not terror, as if Batman were back and a glowering disturbed demon hanging over the alley. No, this is a different kind of reaction from the criminals.

Shame.

"Don't you boys have someplace to be?"

Guns clatter voluntarily onto the ground, and as the kids turn and run, someone apologizes and throws in a  _'Sir'_  for good measure. Many heads look back, too, as they round the corner.

Nobody wants to look over their shoulder for that Batman...

"Tim."

He can't help grinning. He just  _wears_  it. Oh God, it's almost like good times. The pride, that he can do this--work with the big heroes like Superman. Dick's talked about this feeling. It still claims him.

Regardless of  _all_  of this lately, it still clouds his senses and whispers that maybe,  _maybe_  he can hope.

And then he just ruins it.

"Kal."

"You know why I'm here?" the Man of Steel himself asks, hovering gently down to Robin's level. The city even offers a breath to stir the cape and it doesn't matter that it brings the stench of rotton-juice on rust.

"To save me?"

The other is both appraising and stern. "You don't need me to do that."

Robin's grin is deep set. "I know."

"The League isn't able to raise Batman. He's missed duty, and..."

"You can't find him either," Robin hums, finding the tone adequate. No surprise, even with the oddly comforting image of Superman high over Gotham giving his own style of investigation.

"Tim..."

Oh God, he's being flippant in front of Superman. Robin brings his shoulders up and upholds his palms. "Your guess is as good as mine. You already know of the state of the Cave and the Manor. The police are shooting themselves in the metaphorical face and I'm the only one here holding off a gang war fuelled by twelve-year-olds. I'm not even delving into all of it. I  _don't_  know where Batman is. I  _don't_  have time to look harder than I already have and honestly, Kal-Sir, I don't even have time to respond personally on any human level to this."

He could let his voice crack. He could sigh and shake off the weight of the world in front of this man.

He could, but he won't.

The full array of options open up around Tim as the Man of Steel stares hard at him, those blue, piercing eyes seeing through the strain everything is; ultimately surrendering because if Tim won't ask for help, no help  _can_  be given. It would be quite easy to break down under the gaze. Tim's allowed to. Tim knows he's allowed to...

"Is there anything I can do?"

Robin draws back on his heels, Gotham giving his cape a little push too. "You could track down Dick. If he's still alive, he'll be wanting to be found..."

Still ruining it; the easy way he sounds out the word  **'if'**...

Superman shows nothing. "I'll do my best, Tim."

"You'll do better," Robin nods, invincible in  _only_  this, his little satisfaction. Boy Wonder then completes his escape, letting the started momentum carry him onto a garbage compactor and then a fire-escape.

Kal could offer something in parting, but none of the words seem right. His skill in saying the right thing at the right time is falling apart, just as Robin is. And this city.

"Bruce..."

The Man of Steel consigns himself to leaving the discarded guns as smoldering puddles of metal scrap on Gotham's floor. It's the least he can do.

**Author's Note:**

> (Written August 2008)


End file.
